


Days of Old

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Angst and Humor, M/M, Slash, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe - Prince James saves the life of a prince from the Sand country and from that moment on, he becomes a true hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days of Old

Days of Old - gena 

~~~~~ 

Notes: I played fast and loose with history. In fact, I used The Court Jester for inspiration, so if you're a stickler for authenticity - run! I read Kyanowolf's story The Warlord's Sentinel several weeks ago and it got me in the mood to write this. Thanks to Kyanowolf! 

~~~~~ 

Prince Wat of Nibro stared at the king, his eyes flashing fire but his expression blank. 

"Put him to death." 

The words rang in James' head, striking like a smith hammering an anvil, leaving him dizzy and ill. Not again, he begged silently but the strange malady, a curse all his life, could not be persuaded by words. James, Heir Apparent to the throne of Cascadia, glanced up at his father but King Ellis had returned his attention to the proceedings, dismissing his eldest son as he had for the last fifteen years. While the room seemed to dim around him, the faintest sounds flew like arrows to impale his ears. James could clearly hear the voice of his brother's consort the princess, Caroline, as she whispered to the king. "My lord, it does not appear Prince James has the stomach for ruling. Though I fear we may soon discover if I speak the truth or not!" Quiet laughter passed around the dais like the bleating of sheep placidly following their shepherd. James managed a bow, though he swayed dangerously and only Simon's strong hand under his arm saved him embarrassing himself any further than his show of weakness had. 

"Come, Master James," Simon whispered and made it appear he merely escorted the prince away when in fact his grip was the only thing keeping the younger man on his feet. James kept his head high though his vision faded in and out and his ears rang with the sound of his own booted feet on the stones. It wasn't until they reached the safety of his chamber that he allowed himself to give into the pain and collapse against his old friend. 

"James," Simon called, panic tingeing his deep voice but James could find no way to reassure the other man. Sensation tore through him, leaving James to struggle in vain against his traitorous senses. The flesh of his body burned as if put to the torch while a mere whiff of the banquet meat from the hall below made his guts churn. He drifted, vaguely aware that he'd been put to bed, his face bathed with sweet scented water, his fevered skin covered by the softest of silken sheets. He did not know how much time past, only that his dreams were filled with horrors, but none as terrible as the waking hours of the past year had proved. 

He'd believed once the wars ended and Cascadia the ruling power, peace would envelope the land. How wrong he had been. Once his father's armies had marched over their enemies the real horror had begun. Those who resisted the harsh rule set upon them, who refused to pay tribute, or dared to speak out about the King, were put to death. The Palace Guards, in years past, a noble band of soldiers, now saw their ranks swell with ruffians and thugs, led by the King's youngest son, Stephen. James tossed fitfully, Stephen's cold gaze invading even this restless nightmare state. Always at odds with his father, the arrival of a second son, this one possessing the ruthless qualities so lacking in his heir, had left James in a delicate position. His father favored Stephen, and would that he succeed the throne instead of James. Despite his wishes, it had no chance to come to pass as the laws of kingship were strictly upheld in Cascadia, unless the heir proved unsound or some unforeseen accident ended his life. There had been incidents, things James could not bring himself to examine too closely, a fall when his horse shied at some unseen object, a loose balustrade which crumbled under his weight but surely they would not plot to kill him. Something inside James rebelled against the idea but his heart wasn't so sure, he could recall too clearly his father's eyes, so full of disgust, and his brother Stephen's dismayed expression - shock? More likely disappointment. 

James, roused slightly, something cool pressed against his lips and rich wine trickled down his throat. He could hear Simon's voice but it hurt his head too much to answer. All he could do was lie there and let the pain abate in its own time, no doctor's potion had been able to ease his suffering. No healer could even say from whence it came. James knew his loyal followers denounced Stephen's wife for this strange affliction, the Lady Caroline was rumored to be a wicked sorceress, but James remembered his mother's pale and pain wracked features too well to lay blame there. It had been with him long ago, as a boy and then faded into memory. Only recently, after a fierce battle with the hill people, a battle which lasted months and left him stranded for weeks alone and wounded, had the affliction returned. James knew he would die, just as his mother had, but he wanted more than anything to stop the blood being shed by his cruel father before the darkness forever closed in. 

"James? James, can you hear me, now?" Hands, strong as iron but tender as a mother's, lifted him, holding him upright so that more wine could be trickled into his mouth. James, swallowed, coughing as it burned its way down to his gut, then pushed weakly at the cup. 

"I - I hear you, Simon," he rasped. 

"Thanks be to Mithras." 

"What has - your heathen god - got to do with it," James teased. He blinked up at the dark skinned man, wondering once again just how he'd come to have such a man at his side. No one at the court of King Ellis knew how much James trusted and relied on this man, they saw only a foreign warrior given as a slave when they had both been little more than boys. They knew not how the bond between the two warriors had transcended their station and forged a friendship so strong nothing could break it. 

"Mithras is all light, James," Simon informed him, "he knows all and sees all and if it is his wish, you too, will know and see all." James controlled his shudder, the words too close to his reality for comfort. He allowed himself to be propped on the cushions, the pain in his head still clinging too tightly so that movement on his own made his gut heave. Simon summoned body slaves and the sweat soaked garments he'd worn were whisked away, his skin rubbed with oils. He sighed as the last tendrils of pain left his body and his mind cleared of the haze which had filled it. He shivered, hating the feeling of being disconnected from his own body. 

"Are you chilled, Your Highness?" one of the slaves asked with concern. 

"No, Meghan, I'm fine," James hastened to assure her. He waved the woman away, not wishing to frighten her. Such was the state of things that palace spies could be found everywhere and if word reached the king of any mistake on any level, the girl would have been beaten. The unpleasant thought speared through James, bringing back the reason for his current illness. "Simon! The Nibro prince? He - he is dead?" 

Simon's expression fell, the gleam of humor extinguished by his words, "yes, James. One of Prince Stephen's men brought word while you were," he hesitated, "not yourself, that the execution has been carried out and the body returned to his father." 

James groaned, covering his face with both hands. "I can not stand this, Simon," he whispered. "I can not let my father soak our kingdom in the blood of these people." 

"You must not," Simon told him. "You are popular with the people, My Prince. You alone can end this." 

James pulled himself upright, swinging his legs off the bed to stand unsteadily. "I can barely stand, Simon, how can I rule." Simon had no answer and when James turned to him, he could see clearly the fear in the other man's gaze. "How long have I been in my chamber?" 

"Two days, my lord." 

James nodded slowly, the curse which had befallen him was taking longer and longer to pass. He moved to the window, staring out over the green and fertile land he'd once thought the most beautiful place in the world. On the far horizon a caravan made its way towards the city. "More tribute," James said tiredly. "How much will be enough?" His gaze stayed on the ragged line for a long time, it inched closer and for some reason the sight of it growing larger with each passing moment, kindled hope within his breast. "I will attend the ceremony tonight, Simon." 

Behind him, the warrior sighed in resignation. He bowed, though James didn't see it, nor would he ask it, but sometimes Fate demanded the proprieties and Simon had a feeling this would be the night all markers would be called in. Hours later, the banquet hall rang with music and laughter. King Ellis beamed from his dais at the slender, pale skinned dancers who whirled and shimmed like flames. Stephen, too, leered at the barely concealed flesh and James knew that more than one of the women would be brought to his brother's bed that night. He let his gaze drift to the space beside Stephen, to the woman his brother had brought back from a distant land. Hair like the desert sun and eyes as black as night, Caroline made all who looked upon her desire her. But though she burned like a flame, ice possessed her heart. She met James' eye and smiled, it made his skin crawl. 

"My Lord and King," a groveling old man said as he stepped forward. 

The dancers scattered, coming to roost around the dais like brilliantly colored birds. "I bring riches from the people of Pharsalus." He waved forth chest after chest, spilling precious stones upon the floor so that the women plucked at them, shrieking. Rainbows of color burst forth as bolts of cloth were unrolled before the sovereign. Craftsmen offered breathtaking works of art and herdsmen their finest stock. Every person in the conquered kingdom seemed to have contributed to the riches brought to their new king. 

Ellis made an impatient gesture, and his servants hurried to clear the bundles away. "Is this all?" 

"No, my Lord," the man said, wringing his hands and darting looks towards a dark corner. "My King.....the former king of Pharsalus sends his son as token of the affection between our countries." He nodded and two burly men marched forward. James couldn't see the figure between them clearly, the men towered over their charge. He caught a fleeting glimpse of curling hair swept back from a broad forehead then saw only the sturdy back of the man. His blood quickened as the trio came to a halt at the foot of the throne and the look on Stephen's face made him move towards his own seat on his father's opposite side. When James reached his place he looked up and lost himself in two eyes so blue it hurt to look into them. Once, as the wars had brought him to the sea, James had stared at the line where water met sky and the endless expanse had so filled him with awe tears streamed down his cheeks unknown until Simon had wiped them away. He felt the prickle of those tears now as he gazed upon the other man, seeing an answering longing within them. 

"You are the king's son?" King Ellis demanded. 

"I am." The young man's voice commanded, bounding off walls so that every eye fell on him. "I am called Blair." He bowed, not the fawning bow others bestowed on the king, but an acknowledgment of an equal. James could see the anger gathering his father's eye. 

"I would have you show more respect," Ellis warned. The old man whom had accompanied Blair, moved forward, whispering but Blair merely stood silent. "Your father should have sent more goats, I believe they have better manners." The court roared with laughter, and James saw color rush up Blair's cheeks. Silently he begged the beautiful youth to hold his tongue but knew it was like begging the river not to flow. 

"I'm see goats are a welcome addition to your court," his gaze shot around the dais and a sneer curled his lips. "Is seems as if Cascadia thinks them bedfellows." 

Like an in-drawn breath, the room held itself still, waiting. Ellis rose from his ornate chair and faced the foreign prince. "Perhaps news travels slowly to Pharsalus. I would have the prince of Nibro take my message of displeasure to your father, but for his head being separated from his body." 

A slight tremor passed through the young man, not enough for anyone but James to see. "I will have you taught manners." The king signaled his captain of the guard. Big as an ox and just as intelligent, Quinn lumbered towards the prince, two equally massive guards just behind him. At his side, a cat-tail whip dangled, a shiny metal tip adorning the central strip of leather so that when he moved light danced along its surface. Blair paled but held his ground even when the two huge men grasped his arms, holding him in place. 

"No more," James whispered, watching as the strange young man faced his Fate. He could not let it happen, he could no longer stand by and let evil fall upon those who had done nothing to earn it. He could not let his father stain their honor, their pride like this. "No!" James ignored the gasp which flew from every throat and made his way to his father's throne. He fell to one knee, head bowed as he placed his hand upon the King's hem. "I beg Right of Claim." Silence fell over the room, a silence so complete James could hear the ragged breaths of the youth just behind him. A small sound, a derisive snort, made him lift his head from the ritual position in time to see his brother's delighted expression. A murmur began along the far wall, growing until the room buzzed. "Father," James licked at suddenly dry lips, "it is allowed." 

"Yes, it is." A smiled played at Ellis' mouth and he nodded to Quinn. 

The captain of the guard nodded in turn to his men and Blair was released. They made to take James' arms but he shrugged them off, pulling his tunic over his head and kneeling before the dais. 

"No." The whispered word rang in James' ear as if it had been a shout. He did not need to look to know the stricken voice had been the foreign prince's. "No!" Blair said louder, trying to make his way closer but another pair of guards prevented his moving. "I offended the king, not this man." 

Ellis laughed. "My son has Right of Claim, Prince Blair." James heard the catch in Blair's breathing, the gasp when he realized who had claimed his punishment. "James has assumed all responsibility for your actions," the king went on. "Do not interfere as it will cause him even more harm." Quinn stepped closer and James could smell the stink of his unwashed body. He quelled the sick feeling in his gut by thinking of the vast blue sea and how he'd waded out into the waves, cradled in its embrace. "Ten." 

The first blow ignited a firestorm across his shoulders. The second sent it racing throughout his whole body and left him panting. The third rocked him forward and on the fourth James had to catch himself on his hands or pitch face first onto the stones. His chest ached, the muscles so tense he could no longer draw in breath and sweat stung his eyes so that tears streamed down his cheeks. Nothing existed but the lash, its rise and fall defined his world; pain, relief, fear and pain again. It build within him, becoming a never ending cycle. James surrendered himself to the darkness, letting it close around him, and hold him as once the sea had done. He ignored the ragged streaks of pain which danced across this bleak sky, and instead called to mind the vast blue ocean of Blair's eyes and the silent promise he'd seen within them. It had been so long since anyone had cared for him, he'd existed on the crumbs of affection his father tossed his way, on the friendship Simon had brought. But James knew he needed something more, something he could cling too when everything else failed him. 

Another lash of the whip tore across his flesh, the lone metal tip curling around his ribs to dig into his belly. James groaned in agony and would have gladly sank into the deepening emptiness but a soft sound found its way to over the roar of blood in his ears. It tickled the dulled edge of his mind, drawing him back with a power unlike anything he had ever felt before. The pain receded, fading under the assault of one voice. "James, please, James." Prayerful, like the drone of the priests his father employed, the voice worked its way inside him, and James grasped it, pulling himself free, clinging to it as once he'd clung to his mother. He took a deep breath, aching, but not caught in the trap which had threatened to pull him under. 

"Ten!" The tenth time the lash hit his flesh, James sobbed but when the echo of leather against flesh died, he drew his knee up, planting his foot squarely on the floor. He could feel their gazes upon him, knew that these people were his father's lackeys, his brother's henchmen and would not give them the satisfaction of beating him. James shifted his weight and wobbled to his feet. Strong hands caught his waist, steadying him and James knew immediately Blair held him. The man's scent, the brush of his curls, the sound of his breathing, filled his senses, binding them with something stronger than chain. "I've got you," Blair whispered in his ear. "You can do this, James." He met the darkened gaze and blinked an acknowledgment. 

"My son," the kings voice rang through the silent room and when James lifted his eyes he saw grudging admiration in his father's gaze. "You have succeeded in the Right of Claim. Take your slave....." Beside him, James felt Blair stiffen, and if it hadn't been beyond him at the moment would have chuckled at the indignant glare boring through his father. 

"No. Prince Blair is no more a slave than I," James said slowly with an ironic glance towards the strange prince. The pain had abated but his strength was fading just as quickly. "My Claim is for Consort." Involuntary sounds broke from the throats of those gathered and dozens of eyes darted to the king's face, waiting expectantly. Cascadia's laws did not forbid a man to take another as mate, they had been at war a long time and the unbreakable bond among soldiers was one accepted as noble and honorable. But it had been generations since a member of the royal house had taken as consort a member of their own sex as it would put an end to the line of rule. 

A cool, calculating light filled the king's gaze and James could image the thoughts rushing through his father's head. Stephen, though unpopular with the people, had a wife and a child on the way. If James produced no heir the throne would go to his brother's child, thus giving Stephen power one day. And there were places, border villages where the people worshipped strange, unforgiving gods, and hated all who refused to be led like sheep, these peoples would not fall so easily under the spell of a ruler who shared his bed with another man. All these things seemed to flash through the king's gaze in an instant and a sly smile curled his lips. "So be it," he decreed and with a wave of his hand, James found himself betrothed to a man he'd known less than an hour, a man who he would die to protect. 

"My father," Prince Blair said. He bowed low, dignity dripping from every line of his body, then took his Consort by the arm and steered James from the hall. Outside he hesitated, unsure where James' apartments might lay, but his grip tightened on his mate's elbow. "Of all the ignorant things to do! Are you mad? That can be the only answer. I am stuck with a madman, only someone lacking the sense given to even a beast would do such a thing." James saw Simon coming towards them like a thundercloud on the horizon. Blair saw him too, and stepped in front of James, crouched as if to spring should the big man pose a threat. 

Simon faltered, coming to a halt several feet away. He looked from the unlikely guard to James and back. "Blair," James said weakly, "do not do harm to the only man in this kingdom I trust. Simon is a true friend." Blair hesitated but one look at James' face and he backed away, even allowing the big man to take James' arm and help lead him to his chamber. James remembered little of the journey, the excruciating pain of the first few lashes had died leaving only a throb that Blair's nearness seemed to mute, still his eyelids felt heavy and it was all he could do to stay awake. When he was lowered onto his bed, James sank into the silks with a grateful groan. He lay there a moment as Blair summoned water to clean the welts. 

"These are the rooms of a prince of Cascadia?" James smiled at the tone of disdain in Blair's voice. 

"My lord," Simon sounded tired, as if he knew the answer he was about to give fell short of truly explaining, "there was a fire and the king ordered Prince James' quarters moved." 

Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Blair look around the tiny room. It lacked all but the most basic comforts, and only late afternoon light made its way through the high set windows. In days gone by, so the servants said, those touched by the gods had been locked inside. James thought there might be truth in the tale as the door had been made of stout oak banded with iron. "How long ago was the prince moved to these chambers?" 

Again Simon hesitated then said in a voice which creaked with sadness, "my Lord James was but fifteen summers then." Blair made a sound halfway between a sob and a curse but when he leaned down to touch James' head it was with infinite tenderness. It was his last memory as sleep stole over him as gently as Blair's caress. 

The rumble in his belly woke him some time later from strangely pleasant dreams. "Easy James," Blair advised needlessly. He placed a restraining hand on James' shoulder, keeping him from rolling over. James could feel the tight, slightly warm welts which criss-crossed his back and could imagine how they must look. He drifted back towards the oblivion of sleep, but the sound of door opening and the familiar rustle of skirts brought him fully awake. A pungent odor hit his nostrils, causing James to grimace and come completely awake. 

"My lord," Meaghan sobbed. "Oh, my prince, it looks worse than before," she placed the clay pots full of unguents she carried onto the table and stood trembling beside the bed. 

"Before!" Blair gripped her arm, wringing a squeak of alarm from the slave girl. 

"The girl means not harm. Blair, please," James reached out, brushing Blair's arm. "Let her go?" 

"I'm sorry," Blair said. To Meaghan, he inclined his head, "I beg your pardon." He released her and she scurried away. "What did she mean, James?" 

"She meant," Simon's voice said from the doorway, "that the king is a cruel man. Did you not notice the scars upon James' back?" 

"Simon, there's no need...." 

Simon ignored him, as was his habit and sat down on the end of the bed where James could see him. "Though James is the royal heir, his father would not be adverse to a tragedy befalling him. In fact, the courtiers consider it great sport to watch our prince's struggles against such a thing," Simon explained. James made a move to roll over, he did not want Blair to know how he had been treated, how his own father had beat him because he was unworthy to be a king's son. 

"Simon, I forbid..." 

"James." Blair leaned over him, stroking his hair. "I would like to hear what Simon has to say. Do I not deserve the truth?" 

James felt hot blood rush over his cheeks, he turned away, hiding his shame. "Yes," he said softly, "you deserve to know." 

"Thank you," Blair said and to James' surprise, he placed a kiss above one of the aching welts. It soothed the pain away, leaving a tingle where air washed over the moisture his lips had left. James would have gladly accepted that as the treatment for all his aches but a moment later, the pungent odor grew stronger and then Blair whispered, "I must spread this over the wounds to make them heal, James. I will not hurt you." But I will hurt you, James thought. He closed his eyes, wishing he could close his ears to the story Simon unfolded. He did not remember most of the things which Simon told, but the scars on his body showed they were true. 

"I had passed nineteen summers with my tribe when I was captured in battle," Simon said. "I, a warrior of the Dashee, given to a mere puppy of a prince. I had visions of slaying this child and escaping back to my homeland." 

James turned his head, meeting the fond look which graced Simon's dark face. He remembered well the angry giant who had so frightened him those long years ago. 

"Where was this?" Blair asked, still working the sticky salve into the wounds. 

"Near the Sheekira Pass. Lord James had been injured and as I carried potions and healing herbs, the king sent word I was to try and save him." Blair's astonished look made James uneasy. 

"Your father left you, a wounded boy, on the battlefield?" 

"Blair," James tried to explain, "it is my father's belief that the royal family must set the example. A royal prince must be treated without favor in battle. If all wounded men were carted home, our victory would have taken much longer." 

"I have never understood why he set me to attend the Prince," Simon mused. He shook his head, "I was a captured warrior, did they not consider I might poison this young whelp?" His fond gaze fell on James like a gentle hand. 

Blair chewed at his lip a moment before saying, "maybe they did. In my land, the Sand Country, we tell tales of King Ellis to frighten misbehaving children, maybe these tales are not so far from the truth." He lifted his hand from James' back, wiping his fingers on a cloth to clean them. "Your father does not seem overly concerned for the health of his heir." 

James shrugged then wished he hadn't as the skin pulled tight again. "He has Stephen. My brother is his favored son, I seem to be a hindrance." 

"But a beautiful one," Blair said lightly. "You, my prince, must eat. Simon, summon food for our wounded one." He grinned and James could not help but grin in response. James, his back cushioned by folds of clean linen, ate until he could hold no more. Everything pleased him, food tasted as it never had before and each bite proved more delightful than the last. "Honey cakes?" Blair asked, waving a sticky sweet morsel beneath James' nose. 

"I can not!" James groaned, lying carefully back on the bed but he felt not the slightest trace of pain anymore. Blair licked honey from his fingers before turning to gaze at his consort and the sight caused James' heart to skip a beat. Lamplight made Blair's skin shine like gold and shot threads of bronze and copper through his brown locks. His eyes held their own fire and it seemed to grow brighter when he met James' gaze. 

"You have claimed me as your Consort before the king and the court," Blair said in a low, throaty voice. A hint of mischief gleamed in his dark blue eyes and he asked, "would you claim me in private?" 

James swallowed, sweat coated his palms and he could not meet that knowing gaze a moment longer. "My father would have had you beaten until you died, Blair. I will not make any claim on you for merely doing what is right. I will not hold you to this." Heat suffused his cheeks but Blair reached out and caught his chin, pulling his head up and locking their gazes together. 

"But I would like to," Blair assured him. 

"You would?" James hesitated, the heat returning to his cheeks hotter than before. "It is not - no one need know if you -" 

"James," Blair said and placed a single finger to still his lips. "I find you pleasing. You are very fair to look upon and I have been told I, too, am not unsightly." He grinned, looking like a naughty boy, "is there not something you would have from me in gratitude? Some small service I could perform?" 

James took a deep breath, forcing the knots within his stomach to relax. "Would you - sleep here with me all night?" He knew he sounded weak, desperate but the warmth of another possessed the power to drive away fear and remind him that he was not really alone in the world. His other lovers had always left in the night, some fearing gossip, others just wanting the comfort of their own bed. Even if Blair did not love him, it would be better than being alone another long night. 

"Has no on ever been kind to you, my James? Your father cares not what happens to you and your brother plots his course as if you will not always be in his way." He cupped James' cheek, drawing so close his breath cooled the flaming skin. "Have you no one but servants to care what becomes of you?" 

James closed his eyes, dreading what must follow but the bond he felt with this man, the knowledge that he would have given his life just to see Blair safe, made it all the more important that he confess. "It is a waste of time for anyone to care for me," he said in a defeated voice. "I do not blame my father for showing me no affection, he was merciful to send me into battle to die." Blair made a soft sound, but he carried on, needing someone to know exactly what he was. "I have been cursed, I am doomed to die as my mother did - screaming for mercy, attacked by phantoms she alone could see and feel." 

He opened his eyes when Blair drew back, steeling his heart against the disgust he must surely see on the beloved face. What he saw there instead made James grip his consort's shoulders in alarm. "Blair! What is wrong? Are you ill?" The blood had drained from Blair's golden cheeks and his eyes were haunted with pain. 

"I am to lose you?" He gasped. "James, I have only now found you and you say you will die." He pressed himself into the princes' arms, holding him tightly. "I can not explain this feeling. When first I saw you, I was drawn to you and then you took my place, allowing yourself to be beaten." 

James made a soothing noise deep in his throat, wishing he could ease the pain he heard in Blair's voice. "Too many have suffered at my father's hand these past years. I could not stand by and let him hurt you." He bent his head, looking into Blair's face, "my life is of no importance, not to my father and not even to myself anymore." 

"Do not say that!" Blair snapped. "It is of vast importance - to me." The anger flashing in his eyes died, forgotten as he remembered what James had said before. "When? When must I give you up?" 

James tried to speak but only on the second attempt could he voice his thoughts. "I - I do not know, my sweet one. My mother, Queen Grace, died just after Stephen's birth. She screamed for days after bringing him forth, I can still here her cries." He shuddered and accepted gladly, the comfort Blair offered. "since boyhood I have suffered terrible pain. There are times when my head throbs with it until I fear blood will pour from my ears. It begins - it begins with the strange spells when I can see the soldiers marching along distant roads, or voices in the street come to my ear as if I stood next to the stalls listening to the traders speak." Blair sat up, his expression carried a mixture of surprise and excitement. 

"You can see things from a great distance?" James gave a gloomy nod. "And hear whispered words?" Again James gave a halfhearted nod. "What of smell? Can you find the scent of roses from the garden?" James sucked in a deep breath, finding the scent easily. 

"Yes. There are also daffodils growing near them." 

"What of your skin? Does it pain you often? Do foods at time taste rare or gamy?" 

"Yes, I suffer from an affliction of all the senses. I am sorry, my love," James said softly. 

"Sorry?" Blair laughed. "Do not show sorrow for such a gift." James lifted his head, anger growing in the face of such mockery but when he met the saw the prince's expression it died away. Blair's joy could be felt, he smiled and said, "In the Sand country we revere such people, James. My people have relied on watchmen all our lives. If we do not find water or shelter from the blazing sun, we would die. If we knew not that the storms were on their way, we would perish. Do not be sorry for this blessing. You are one of the chosen, one of the watchmen." James sat motionless, afraid that he might wake from this beautiful dream at any moment. He had longed for something like this for years, to be told he was worthy of praise, that he was not just the burden he'd been led to believe he was. "James?" 

"I am not cursed?" 

"No," Blair smiled again, this one gentle and somewhat sad, then kissed him, "no, not cursed." James caught his breath as Blair's extraordinary eyes seemed to blaze and glow. "Let us make use of your gift and I will show you what a blessing it can be." He reached for James, hands slipping beneath the tunic he wore to slide it slowly up his chest. Heat raced from the gentle hands down to fill his manhood and up to quicken his heart. James moaned, spreading his legs wide as Blair knelt between them, pressing him back onto the bed. Slow, languid touches took him to the edge of ecstasy, abandoned him there, then started all over. James writhed within this madness, caught and helpless as Blair used his senses against him. He could hear only the thundering heart of his lover and the whispered endearments Blair taught him that night. His nostrils filled with the earthy scent of Blair's desire, while his eyes feasted on the naked need which possessed his lover. Sweat dripped from Blair's temple and James lapped the salty liquid like a man dying in the desert would lap at water. And when Blair pressed against him, urging his legs up, molding his turgid manhood against James' own, he could not stop the roar of pleasure which raced through his very soul. James shuddered under the absolute control Blair ripped from him, wanting nothing more than to give it again and again. 

It seemed a long time before his soul found its way back to his body. James listened to the ragged breath of his lover for a moment before rolling away, unsure of what Blair wanted. He longed to curl up, arms clasping Blair to his chest but Blair had not said he would stay, much less whether he would be allowed to hold him. "Mmmm, so good," Blair purred. He traced a finger down James' arm, lifting it to roll beneath. "Do you not like this?" He asked, settling close and kissing James' shoulder. 

"Yes, I do." James lay there a long time, listening to the way Blair's heart beat in time to his own. For the first time in his life he realized he was not lonely, the strange void inside his chest had been filled by the man who slept in his arms. 

At length a proclamation announced the official union of King Ellis' son, James, Prince of Cascadia to Prince Blair of the Sand country. Rejoicing, the countryside indulged in feasts and games, filling the month as they shared James' happiness. There were villages, those who interpreted the One God's words with bigotry, twisting them for their own purpose, who opposed the match and even some of James' loyal subjects did not like it, but those feared only the rule of Stephen's get when James was dead. The armies with their brotherhood of soldiers rallied around the prince, and the nobles who were growing increasingly unhappy with the king, also expressed their approval of the union. Most assumed James would get a bastard on some maiden in order to have an heir once he ascended to the throne. A sense of hope filled the ravaged land. 

"And what, other than prison, is the name given to this garment?" Blair asked. Preparations for the Binding had begun almost immediately with heralds spanned the kingdom, spreading the news. Blair discovered that Cascadians enjoyed pageantry and that he would be made to play his role as the heir's chosen mate to an exacting standard. And so he endured the hours of tutelage in Cascadian custom and ritual but there were things, like the garment Simon had presented him with, he could not phantom. He held his arms wide, allowing the voluminous folds of fabric to fall to his ankles. White as the snow which topped the faraway mountains and embroidered with gold threads, the robe emphasized his exotic, dark looks. 

Simon considered him a moment and when he answered, his voice shook with suppressed mirth. "Tantara. It is customary to announce the betrothal of a royal prince with much fanfare." 

"No doubt to amuse the people." 

"It looks very well on you." Blair spun around, coming face to face with the Lady Caroline. She cast a sweet smile at him, her eyes luminous and glowing. Blair found himself unable to look away from her, caught by the startling beauty he had not noticed before. He coppery hair glimmered in the light, dazzling him. He could sense the loneliness in her, how she wished only to be his friend. 

"Prince Blair," Simon's voice grated on his ears, buzzing like a gnat. Blair scowled at the servant, waving him away so that he could bask in Caroline's elegance. "James is a very lucky man," she said. Caroline moved closer, drifting like a lone cloud, graceful and weightless. It was all he could do to keep his hands from grasping her wrists and pulling her into an embrace. "You look flushed, brother," she said, "are you well?" His heart thundered, beating the air from his lungs so that he panted for breath in the close room. Caroline drew nearer, her swollen belly adding to the loveliness, her voice so sweet. She reached for him, her hand delicate and soft. 

"Blair!" 

Rough hands caught him around the waist, spinning him around and away before she could touch his cheek. Both he and Caroline howled, he with frustration, she with rage. "No! By the gods, let me go!" Blair shouted, twisting and writhing like a serpent. He lashed out, elbows slamming into ribs hard enough to be heard, the grunt of pain it produced spurred him on, feeding the mindless anger. The grip holding him loosened and Blair found himself back on his feet. He spun, screaming as his fist connected with flesh, and sent his foe crashing to the floor. Rage pumped through Blair, as heady as the lust which had seized his heart only moments ago, he pounded twice more the unprotected body and would have gone on, so lost in the madness but for the man looking up at him. If there had been anger, rage, hatred in that gaze, he would have killed without thought, but James stared up at him, his gaze filled with sad resignation. 

"J-James? James, beloved, what have I done?" He dropped to his knees, reaching for his lover but James flinched. "I would never harm you! What has befallen me?" 

"The sorceress has done this," James said, eyes picking out Caroline's form. Blair followed James' gaze to where Simon blocked the door. Caroline stood before them, pale, her hands over her belly as if she feared their anger might harm the child within. But Blair could see the smile on her face, how her lips moved in whispered words and knew that she spoke to that babe inside her, drew some power from it. He shuddered, cold leeching through his body though the day was hot. 

James grasped his arm, pulling him around and peering at him with the intense gaze he knew so well. "I am well, my love," Blair said, "but it is not the same with you." He wiped at the blood, tears prickling at the back of his eyes. "Evil clings to this place, James." 

"It was the witch," James said coldly. His blue eyes fell upon his brother's wife. "I hear your demon cackle, sister. Know this, if you harm Blair I will hunt you down if it takes the rest of my life, and I will kill you." Caroline blanched, then turned and pushed her way past Simon. 

"I do not understand what has happened." 

He helped James to his feet, seating him on the bed before grasping his hand. James spoke with a quiet anger, the knowledge of how close he had come to losing Blair setting his gut on fire. "The Sorceress wanted to trap you. I have heard from the servants that she wanders the hills searching out certain roots, the kind which only grow during the dark of the moon. She would have made you her slave with a touch, you would have killed anyone who threatened harm to her, died to protect her." Blair paled. "Simon warned me." 

"He protected you," Blair said and smiled at the tall, dark-skinned man. But when he turned back to James his smile vanished. "And you did not protect yourself. You would have let me kill you!" 

"To have harmed you would have brought death to my heart," James said gently. 

"Next time to not defend yourself will surely bring pain." He glared at his lover and James turned to Simon for help, eyes pleading. 

"Mithras advises all men to protect what they value most," the big man said and proved it by leaving. 

"How are we to protect ourselves, James?" Blair asked as the silence stretched between them. 

James sighed, shoulders hunching under the weight of his burden. "I don't know." He took Blair's hand in his and they sat, just being together, for a long time. 

**** 

The night before the Binding ceremony James woke with a start. At first he thought Blair had cried out but one look at the peacefully slumbering form and he knew that had not been the cause of his sudden waking. He lay still a moment, casting his hearing about their small room, the corridor outside and finally the rooms beyond. He flinched at the cacophony of sound; rats in the storerooms, servants snoring, people making love, and a dozen other sounds, stabbed his hearing. His distress drew a slight mumble from his lover but a moment later James remembered the lessons Blair had taught him. His lover's knowledge of tribal watchmen and how they survived the onslaught of their senses had made the bearing of his affliction possible. James resorted to one of the mental pictures his lover had made up to help him. He imagined a piece of cheesecloth and sounds pouring through it like water, filtering out each noise until he found the one he sought. Voices, He could plainly hear them now. Not raised in anger but calm, and deliberate. James pictured their words as a blue colored streamer in the air and tracked the voices back to their source. He listened and tears stood in his eyes when he finally pulled back. He knew what had to be done and with a tender kiss to his beloved's forehead, he silently left their bed. 

He woke his lover a few hours later, kissing him again before leaving him in Simon's hands to prepare for the day's events. Unlike weddings, ceremonies, conducted at dawn to symbolize new life, the Binding took place at dusk. "To show that we will walk through darkness, never parting even in the face of the unknown," James explained to his beloved. His attendants scurried about, adding to the sense of expectation. Word had arrived at the castle that two of the village on the southern shores did not wish the Binding party to ride through their streets. James fretted over the news, snapping at Meghan when she tied the tantara wrong. She apologized, eyes lowered though James could see a smug smile. 

"I am sorry, Meg," he said, "I am not myself today." 

"It is understandable," she said and winked, "there are many surprises in store for you today." Though she meant it as a joke, James merely nodded distractedly. Simon entered and the sight of his old friend brought him to his feet. 

"Well?" 

Simon bowed, his movements just slow enough to ensure the room contained only the two of them before answering. "It is done. When the times come you will know by this." He produced a small packet, holding it up for James to take. The prince, opened it and the scent of ginger filled his nostrils. 

"Well done." 

When sunlight reached the crenels they set out, James and Blair riding matching black horses, their white tantara gleaming. Field workers knelt as they passed, heads bowed until the men and their retainers proceeded, then cheered wildly. "Your people love you," Blair said. His face glowed and it was all James could do to keep from pulling him from his horse and finding a secluded coppice of trees and ravishing him. Villagers lined the streets, throwing flowers and calling well wishes. Only the grim towns on their southern borders, the ones which decried Binding as a corruption of the scared decree to procreate, met them with unfriendly stares. There were whispered wishes, James heard these and accepted them with a grave expression, and several old women presented the pair with flowers before they moved on. 

Dusk found them on the road back to the king's palace. "You are very quiet," James observed. 

"I was wondering why this new religion has taken hold," Blair said quietly. "It preaches love and yet hates all which is not to their liking." 

James shrugged. The castle walls were within sight and they had much to endure before they could rest. "Simon," James called to his man, "stay with Blair." To his lover he said, "I must ride ahead. Ritual demands I accompany my father to the ceremony." He waved and spurred his horse on. Dust settled in his wake as the powerful horse raced towards the walls. James smiled, enjoying the rush of wind over his cheeks all the way across the drawbridge and into the lower bailey. Here the walls pressed against him, giving him the feeling of being watched, over being followed. He left his horse with a groom, passed through a gateway to the middle bailey and on into the keep. His father's chamber rested at the fortified center and it was to here he went. "Father," James said, bowing low and waiting. 

The king continued his conversation with the his chamberlain, ignoring his son for long moments. James listened to the mindless prattle, humiliated once again. The chamberlain, a disagreeable man, sniffed loudly as he made his obeisance to his lord and brushed passed the bowing prince. 

"James, I believe it is time," Ellis finally announced. His robes, purple trimmed with white fur, swept the floor before his son. James rose, following the king and those attendants who never left the king's side. They wove through the narrows corridors until the way opened into a great hall. 

Nobles from all parts of the kingdom had gathered, old barons who had once believed in Ellis, but now feared him, stood silently. Their wives and children watched from one side as the group entered. At one end an altar stood resplendent with flowers and sprigs of blossoms, the priestess who would bind them stood there in a white gown, a garland of pine boughs ringing her head. Blair waited to one side, Stephen and Caroline, as family, stood beside him. James followed the king, taking his place beside Blair when King Ellis took his throne. 

James listened, not to the words the priestess used to call down blessing upon them, but to the heartbeats all around him. His father's never quickened but when Caroline, as sister to the prince, brought forth a goblet and pressed it into Blair's hand, her heartbeat spiked. Caroline's dark eyes never left Blair's mouth as he sipped the wine, then passed it to James. The strong odor of ginger brought tears to James' eye but he sipped the wine anyway. It burned, eating a fiery path through his insides, and for a moment he feared he would not be able to finish the ceremony. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "James?" Blair's voice forced him on. 

"I am fine," James lied, "it is the close air." He took the goblet to his father, bowing as he presented it. "Bless the Binding, my lord?" Ellis drank from the cup, draining it then handing it back. James turned, swaying as his balance faltered, then moved slowly back to his consort. Blair blinked at him, his face now mottled red, high spots of color staining his cheeks. 

"James? What - what is wrong with me?" 

"It is the poison," James said. Louder, so that those gathered would not miss his words. "The sorceress, Caroline has poisoned us. Look, see what she has done to the king!" Ellis half rose from the ornate chair, his face puce, eyes bulging. A raspy groan issued from his throat, a thick, black trickle of liquid gushed from his mouth and stained his robes. Women screamed as he toppled from the dais and fell to the stone floor unmoving. Blair staggered and fell heavily against the altar, pulling flowers and goblets over as he, too, collapsed. James gasped, his heart withered within his chest. H had not expected it to happen so quickly to his lover, had hoped he would not see the horrible sight as Blair shuddered then lay still. Shouts filled the hall. The ringing of steel pulled from scabbards echoed off the walls like thunder and three of the king's men caught Caroline by the arm. 

"Unhand the Queen," Stephen shouted. His arrogant smile died a moment later when a tall nobleman in scarlet robes pushed through the crowd, Meghan behind him leading another woman. 

"Sire," the man shouted above the din and the noise subsided as those gathered recognized the Duke of Camberwell. "I followed Lady Caroline as you suggested and witnessed her deceit. Here is the flask she emptied into the goblet." He raised a silver flask and passed it into James' hand. The prince closed his fingers but could no longer feel anything but the numbness of the poison. 

Meghan curtsied and pointed to the other woman beside her. "This is Belinda, servant to the lady Caroline." Belinda cowered, dropping the bundle she carried from her apron - leaves and petals fluttered about her feet. 

"M-my Lady told me what to pick," Belinda stuttered. "S-she mixed the h-herbs in her rooms." Outrage, shouts to kill the witch, sent James reeling. He pressed a hand to his head, and felt Simon catch hold of him. Over the buzzing in his skull he could hear the cries Caroline made of her innocence, her condemnation of her husband. Stephen's voice joined hers, denying the charge and placing the blame solely on the witch he had married. People began calling for their lives, demanding that the pair be put to death. 

"The child is innocent," James shouted. "Caroline will bring it forth and then join her husband in banishment from this kingdom!" Guards sprang forward, grasping the two struggling prisoners and leading them away while others reverently lifted the lifeless body of the king and bore it away as well. "All of you begone!" James ordered. He sank to his knees, lifting Blair's head to rest on his thigh. His lover's cheeks were pale as winter snow, the skin cool to the touch. "Simon! He does not live! The drug, you were to give us both a drug to keep the life within!" His fist grasped Simon's tunic, teeth bared in rage. "He must not die!" 

"My lord," Simon stared in horror at the limp man in James' arms. "I used the proper herbs! I do not know what has gone wrong. He should be as you, ill but alive." 

James gathered his lover into his arms. Blair's head lolled grotesquely as he rocked back and forth. Grief, black and endless, pulled at him, sucking the will to live from his body just as the tears fell from his eyes. "No, no. This can not be happening." Sound faded away as James cradled his lover, all his senses fled, he could no longer feel the chilled skin against his own cheek or see the beloved face which had grown empty. Something stirred within the void of this limbo, a form took shape, a wolf. It raced towards him, and James saw another shape, a feline so dark it could have been the embodiment of his sorrow, and this animal sprang at the wolf. They melted into one another, white light bursting from the joining, spreading over James and the man in his arms. He threw his head back, screaming as the brilliance tore at him like a knife. And his scream came back at him, echoed from the throat of his lover. 

"Blair! Blair, you've come back to me!" James buried his face in the mass of curls, inhaling the scent of life, of tears, of love. 

*** 

King James of Cascadia ruled his land for fifty years. He proved a just and kindly king and the lands of his kingdom prospered. His consort, the Prince Blair, never returned to his homeland of the Sand country but brought his mother, Naomi to run his household. James the Second, adopted son of the king, and James' exiled brother, ruled just as well as his foster father. James and Blair remained deeply in love and devoted to each other for all their lives which followed. 

The end.


End file.
